


Osaka-shi Serenade

by profdanglais



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, English Teachers, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Japan, Smut, a hint of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-05-19 21:13:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19364206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profdanglais/pseuds/profdanglais
Summary: When Emma Swan’s high school sweetheart betrays her she runs away, as far as she can get… all the way to Japan. She tells herself it’s not running, it’s an adventure, but when she meets a handsome Englishman as broken as she is, will she be brave enough to embark on a new adventure with him?





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This is the most personal thing I’ve ever written. I just need to say that up front. It is personal because it is basically the story of how my husband and I met and fell in love, tweaked for Captain Swan. It... works surprisingly well, actually. I had no idea I was living in a romcom until @thisonesatellite accused me of having a “meet-cute.” But I have to admit, she has a point. It was kinda cute. It’s MUCH CUTER with Killian and Emma, though, because you know what those two are like.

She wasn’t running away. 

Well okay she was _technically_ , but she was also going on an adventure and that sounded a hell of a lot better. 

Plus the fact that the interviews had been held in Boston which would normally be too far to expect her rickety Bug to travel and too expensive to get the train on her waitress income, but that they were held on a day she just _happened_ to have plans to be in Boston anyway, catching a ride with Ruby on her annual shopping trip and spa day, well that had to be fate. 

And who was she to argue with fate? 

The same fate that had seen her pass the last class she needed for her BA just in time to allow her to check that final box on the application form, to qualify for the visa that she needed for the job that would take her as far away from Neal Cassidy as she could reasonably get without leaving the planet. 

There weren’t English language schools on Mars or she would have fucking considered it. 

But Japan was far enough really, and as she stood in the Osaka airport fighting off jet lag and trying to make sense of the signs that really may as well have been in Martian for all the help they offered her in finding where she needed to go to catch the damn bus, she wasn’t entirely certain she hadn’t landed on another planet after all. 

It was all so different. 

Just as she was about to give up in despair, curl up on her suitcase and take a nap in the middle of the goddamn arrivals hall she heard someone speaking her name. 

“Emma Swan?” 

Emma turned to see a young woman with a clipboard and an expression of polite inquiry. 

“That’s me.”

The woman smiled coolly, making a decisive movement of her pen on the clipboard. “I’m Belle, I’m here to take you to the bus.”

“Oh thank God.”

Belle looked up and her smile warmed. “Yeah it can be disconcerting at first,” she said. “Don’t worry you’ll soon get used to things. We’re just waiting for one more person then we’ll head for the bus stop. Here’s your ticket. Don’t lose it.”

Emma clutched the small ticket tightly, noticing even in her highly sleep deprived state that beneath the Martian letters there was a small illustration of a bus. 

Helpful, she thought. 

She swayed on her feet and allowed the airport to blur around her as Belle’s voice said “Walsh Ozman?” and she vaguely noted the presence of a gangly man about her age. He gave her a once-over and a leer that she would have found inappropriate even when she hadn’t spent the past twenty four hours marinating in plane grunge, and Emma was just _too tired_ and too overwhelmed for that kind of bullshit. She turned her back on him, picked up her suitcase, hoisted her carry-on onto her shoulder, and followed Belle out of the airport into the muggy Japanese night. 

The air smelled different here, thought Emma. 

The bus ride into the city was excruciatingly long, the scenery insanely confusing. All the buildings looked alike, tall and grey and adorned with balconies on every floor, their railings strewn with plants and strung with laundry, and Emma began to panic. She was a small town girl after all, despite the occasional weekend in Boston, and she’d never been in a city like this before. 

_What if I get lost?_  

She breathed deeply to calm herself and tried to focus on Belle’s words. _You’ll soon get used to things._ Emma hoped like hell she was right. 

Walsh leaned over the back of her seat bringing his face way too close, breathing rank breath over her cheek. “So. Where you from?” he asked, in a voice she supposed he thought was sexy. 

“Maine,” she said shortly, not looking at him. 

“Cool,” he said. “Lobsters. I’m from Fresno. That’s in California.” 

“I know.” 

“ _Northern_ California,” he elaborated as though she hadn’t spoken, winking at her. 

Emma ignored him, pulling her scarf up over her nose to filter out the smell of his breath and pretending to go to sleep. She imagined she didn’t smell too great either after flying across the freaking Pacific Ocean (not to mention the whole of the USA) but really you’d think the asshole could at least brush his teeth before hitting on her. 

When they finally arrived at the bus terminal Emma thought she had managed to sleep a little bit. They were met by a dark-haired man who introduced himself as August and smirked as he spoke Japanese to the bus driver, and by a cheerful, petite woman with an accent Emma had never heard before who told them to call her Tink.

“Don’t ask,” she said with a laugh. “At least not yet. I’ll tell you the story someday over a beer.” 

“You two are gonna be living on different subway lines,” said August, and Emma breathed a small sigh of relief. “Emma, you’re on the Sennichimae line, that’s the pink line, so you go that way.” He pointed to their left. “Tink will go with you and help you get settled in, give you your keys and everything. Walsh, you’re on the red line, Midosuji, so you come with me.” 

Emma was immensely glad to find herself with Tink, who was bubbly and cheerful though sometimes Emma wasn’t entirely sure what she was saying. 

“Where are you from?” she asked as they sat in the subway car, wincing a bit to herself as she repeated Walsh’s question. Without the smarmy intonation, she hoped. 

“Oh, I’m a Kiwi.” 

“A what?” Emma frowned at the image of Tink as a fuzzy brown fruit. Maybe exhaustion was making her hallucinate, she thought. That could happen, right? 

Tink laughed. “I’m from New Zealand.” 

“Oh, wow. Is it really cliché if I mention Lord of the Rings right now?”

“Yep. But don’t worry, I’m used to it.” 

They got off the subway at Imazato station. 

“Remember that name,” said Tink. “If you ever need to get a taxi home, don’t try to give them your address. Just tell them the name of the subway station, it’s a lot easier.” She pointed to a building across the street from the station entrance. “That one’s yours.”

Emma noted with relief that it wasn’t a skyscraper, though still far taller than any building in Storybrooke. It was also painted off white, with the balconies in red. It was pretty. 

“Does every place have a balcony?” she asked Tink. 

“Oh, yeah. It’s the only way to get some outside space in the city. People use them for growing pot plants, drying laundry, all sorts of things.” She led Emma into the building and pressed the button to summon the elevator. “You’re on the fifth floor, so you can walk up if you want, but…” 

“Yeah,” Emma agreed. “Maybe some other time.” 

“You’ve got two flatmates but they’re at work, they both work the night shift,” said Tink, opening the door. “The MM Centre is open 24 hours.”

“Yeah, they told me I’m working the 3-11 pm shift, but I was a waitress for years so I’m used to those kind of hours.” 

“Mm hmm,” said Tink, but she was distracted, looking around the room. “They should have… ah yes here, they’ve left you a note. And a towel, that’s thoughtful. I suppose you didn’t bring a towel.” 

“Um, no,” said Emma. 

“Most of us don’t. It’s one of those things you just don’t think you’ll need. But you’ve got bedding supplied for you, a futon and some sheets.” 

The apartment’s front door opened into a short hallway with the bathroom door leading off to the right and the main living space in front. The main room was sparsely furnished with a plain, worn sofa and a television sitting on a small table. A sink, refrigerator, and kitchen cabinets lined one wall and a dining table with three chairs stood along the one perpendicular to it. Emma noted to her relief that there was also a microwave. Red curtains hung at the sides of the large sliding glass door that separated the room from the balcony, and there were three other doors, also sliding ones, made of thin slats of wood that criss-crossed each other to form small window-like squares which held what looked like thick, cream-coloured paper. 

Tink slid open one of the these doors and gestured to the room behind it. “This one’s yours.” 

Emma’s eyes widened as she took in the room. It was small and simple, the walls a basic off-white, but it had big windows on two of its walls, a spacious looking closet behind more of the thin wooden doors, and the floor was covered with densely woven straw mats. The air inside smelled fresh and sort of grassy, like a late summer day in a hay field. It made Emma feel peaceful. 

“You really lucked out with this place,” said Tink. “Really close to the station, and you’ve got tatami in all of the bedrooms. A lot of the apartments NOVA puts us in have lino floors and they are nowhere near as nice. Gross in the summer. Sticky.” 

Emma nodded, wanting to ask Tink how long she’d been in Japan but when she opened her mouth all that came out was a jaw-cracking yawn. 

Tink laughed. “I’ll let you settle in now and get some sleep. Here’s your starter pack.” She handed Emma a blue folder with her name on the front. “There’s instructions for how to put the futon together and also a map of the city and a subway map and directions to the Centre. You’ve got nothing scheduled for tomorrow, which is actually now today, but on Monday you need to be at the Centre at nine to start your orientation. All the info’s in the pack. Here are your keys. Any questions?” 

Emma had loads, but she shook her head. They could wait. 

“Cool. I’ll leave you be then. Sleep well.” 

“Thanks.” 

After Tink left Emma stared at the futon instructions for a solid five minutes without her brain absorbing a single molecule of the information they contained, until finally she threw them along with the rest of the orientation pack on the floor and simply unfolded the mattress, wrapped the sheet around herself and fell asleep. 

——

It turned out that Belle was right. Emma did, eventually, get used to things in Japan. It took far less time than she’d feared, due at least in part to that first day when she’d woken up completely disoriented to find both her new roommates asleep and her stomach practically caving in on itself. 

Reminding herself that this was an adventure and she’d sworn to be brave, she had grabbed her map and headed out into the streets of Osaka in search of food. 

And gotten hopelessly lost. 

The streets were a cacophony of noise and colour, honking cars and bicycle horns, bustling people, flashing neon signs. Emma tried to stay on what looked like the main road —the one with the most lanes, anyway— but as she walked along it her attention was caught by a brief flash of green in her peripheral vision, soft and natural against the dusty greys and blinding neons of the city, and on impulse she went to investigate. 

Around a sharp corner and down a narrow alleyway she discovered a tiny structure she would later learn was a Shinto shrine; simple and ancient and made of wood, with a pointed roof that curved up at the ends and an ornate metal decoration at its peak, about the size of a telephone booth. Lush green grass edged with dense, thorny bushes surrounded it, bisected in one direction by a winding brook made lively by mossy stones and in the other a cobbled path leading to the shrine from the street, which crossed the brook via a tiny wooden bridge painted orangey-red. 

Emma approached it with awe, wondering again if this could be a hallucination, this haven of peace in the urban chaos. The quiet was blissful after the noise of the street, and almost surreal in its contrast. She took a deep breath, inhaling the sharp, piny scent of the bushes and the fine mist of the brook and felt herself relax. 

As lovely as the shrine was, though, she couldn’t eat it, as her stomach reminded her with a thunderous growl that almost echoed in the little garden. She went back over the bridge and down the path but when she emerged into the street she couldn’t remember which direction she’d come from. All the streets looked… well, not the same exactly but there were no landmarks her mind could latch onto, just a jumble of houses and signs written entirely in Japanese, and Emma realised that she had stumbled into a neighbourhood where most tourists didn’t venture. 

She chose a street at random and headed down it, looking for anything that might be a restaurant or grocery store, but though she passed quite a few places that had signs hanging in front of them and wooden doors that looked like they might lead to eating establishments, she didn’t have the confidence to just push through one, in case it turned out not to be a restaurant at all. She had literally no idea of what she was looking for. 

Eventually, the small street she was on intersected with a wider one and on the corner was the first thing she’d seen that was unmistakably a place to eat, if the large sign with pictures of food on it was any indication. It had a bright red awning with wisps of delicious smelling steam emanating from beneath it, out of a small kitchen area just visible behind wooden bar lined with stools, separated from it by a curtain made of clear plastic strips. Emma approached hesitantly, trying not to stare at the enormous bowls of soup and noodles that a Japanese couple were slurping enthusiastically at one end of the bar. 

 A man emerged through the plastic curtain and said something to her in rapid Japanese. 

“Um,” stuttered Emma. “I’m sorry, I don’t…” She tried to think of a way to explain what she wanted using sign language but her frazzled brain would not cooperate. 

One of the people from the end of the bar looked up, a young woman with a glossy, chin-length bob. She smiled at Emma and said something to the man from the kitchen, who nodded in response and shouted “Hai!” then disappeared, returning moments later with a steaming bowl of soup, a pair of wooden chopsticks, and a white ceramic dish containing a small towel rolled into a cylinder shape. These he placed in front of Emma, bowed to her, and left again. 

“Please,” said the woman, pointing to the towel then rubbing her hands together. “Please.” 

Emma picked up the towel and unfolded it. It was warm and damp and had a clean, refreshing scent. She wiped her hands with it, and then, following the woman’s mimed instructions, her face as well. 

At the woman’s urging she sat and picked up the chopsticks, pulling them apart with a sharp crack and then staring at them helplessly. 

The woman laughed, but it was a friendly laugh, and she held up her own chopsticks to show Emma how they should be held. After a few attempts she managed to hold them securely enough to transfer some noodles into her mouth and slurp them up, and when the broth slopped everywhere and dripped down her chin she laughed too. 

Nothing had ever tasted so delicious. 

The woman pointed at herself, directly at her nose. “Naoki,” she said, widening her eyes and nodding. “Naoki.” 

“Uh.” Emma thought she understood, and pointed to her own nose. “Emma.” 

“Em-ma,” Naoki repeated. She indicated the man sitting next to her. “Masahiro,” she said. 

“Whoa, okay,” laughed Emma. “Um, Masahiro?”

“So, desu-ne!” cried Naoki, and Emma took that to mean approval. 

She ate the rest of her noodles and broth messily and with relish, and when she finished she pulled a 1000 yen note from her pocket and offered it to Naoki, who firmly waved it away.  

“Thank you,” said Emma, meaning it from the bottom of her heart. “Er, arrigato.” 

She returned the 1000 yen to her pocket and took out the map of Osaka, frowning as she struggled to unfold it. Masahiro tugged on a corner and gestured for her to give it to him. 

Emma handed over the map. 

He spread it out on the bar and removed a pen from the pocket of his jacket, then appeared to think hard. 

“Home,” he said finally. 

“My home?” said Emma. She remembered Tink’s advice about giving the name of the subway station. “Um, Imazato? Imazato station?”  

“Imazato eki,” said Masahiro. “Hai.” 

He drew a large X on the map and pointed to it. “Imazato,” he said. “Imazato eki.” 

“Okay,” said Emma. 

Masahiro traced his pen through the confusing web of streets on the map than drew a circle. 

“Koko,” he said. “Here.” He slid the map back to her and pointed down the street. “Imazato,” he said. 

“Imazato that way,” said Emma. “Got it. Thank you. Thank you both.” 

Naoki and Masahiro both stood, and bowed to her. She attempted a small bow herself, feeling foolish, then headed in the direction Masahiro had indicated, following the path he’d drawn on her map until she spotted the pink sign for Imazato station. 

“Thank fuck,” breathed Emma in profound relief, and thank fuck she’d remembered the name of the station. 

That experience taught her not to be so afraid of getting lost, or trying new things even when she had no idea what she was doing. Or asking for help. All of which she needed to do repeatedly as she settled in to her new country. 

Gradually she began to adjust, to spot landmarks and develop routines, and she had begun to feel fairly sure of herself about a week and a half in when she got on the subway after her shift along with a whole crowd of other English teachers she’d yet to speak to. 

The car was packed so she slid into the corner and pulled out a book, holding it in one hand while the other gripped the railing for balance. It was a good book —the latest Terry Pratchett— but before she could really get into it she was distracted by raucous laughter from a group just to her right. 

“I don’t know what you’re on about, mate,” said a voice, a deep, rich one with a British accent that could curl your toes. “This is a very expensive tie. It cost a _hundred_ yen!” 

Emma looked up, trying to get a glimpse of the speaker. She was pretty sure he’d been joking —he _must_ have been joking, even she knew 100 yen was only about a dollar, and she’d only just got here— but his tone had been very dry and also she wanted to see if his face matched his voice. 

“Look,” the voice continued. “It’s 100% silk. It says so right here on the label.”

“Oh and labels never lie I suppose,” retorted another voice. 

“This one better not. I paid _a hundred yen_ for this tie, I bloody well expect silk for that price!” 

Laugher rose again and as Emma watched the small group shifted and the speaker’s face came into view. She caught her breath. 

“What are you alleging, exactly, Graham? That someone took a cheap polyester tie and put a ‘100% silk’ label on it?” The speaker’s eyes glinted with mischief and she was now certain he was joking. 

His eyes were also really blue. 

“Whoever would do such a nefarious thing?” he continued, adopting a look of angelic innocence so patently false that Emma snorted with laughter. The group turned to look at her. 

“You’ll have to excuse Killian,” said the lone female among them, a young woman about Emma’s age with long, brown braids and friendly eyes. “He’s never had to own a tie before.” 

“What, never?” asked Emma, as though she hadn’t just bought suits for the very first time, to meet the dress code of this job. 

“Never needed one,” said Killian with a shrug. “Except for funerals, and I threw that one away.” His blue eyes clouded briefly with a flash of pain that Emma felt echo in her own soul. She knew that pain, firsthand. But it was gone almost before she could register it, replaced by the teasing glint. “So I went shopping for one the day I arrived and found these very reasonably priced _one hundred percent silk_ ties at the hundred yen store, but Graham seems to think I’m not entering into the _spirit_ of the dress code.”

“Look, I don’t like wearing suits any more than you do,” said Graham, in another accent Emma couldn’t quite place. She’d heard more versions of English spoken in the past ten days than she’d ever imagined existed. “But I’m prepared to put in a bit of effort.” 

Emma had to admit that his effort was impressive. Graham’s suit fit him perfectly, and his shirt and tie were beautifully matched. Killian on the other hand wore a suit that even to Emma’s untrained eye was obviously made of cheaper fabric, the fit a bit awkward and the tie carelessly knotted. 

“Why?” challenged Killian in a voice that aimed for casual but only reached defensive, and a tense silence fell.

“Look, mate I didn’t mean—” Graham began hesitantly, but Killian cut him off. 

“It’s fine,” he said, making a short chopping motion with his hand. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Emma had no time to wonder what all that could be about because the woman jumped in, trying to lighten the mood.  

“Hey!” she said brightly, pointing at the subway ticket that Emma was using as a bookmark. “Is that a single day ticket?” 

“Um. Yeah?”

“Why don’t you get a monthly pass? It’d save a lot of money.” 

“I didn’t know I could.” 

“Oh yeah! NOVA will pay for it, you just have to buy it and they’ll reimburse you. And little secret, if you put Umeda as your transfer station you can use it on all the subway lines and city trains, so you won’t have to pay for transport at all.”

“That sounds great, but I don’t really know how—” 

“Oh, no worries! I have to renew mine, I can go with you! I’m Anna, by the way. I’m from Canada!” She held out her hand. 

“Emma. Er, from the US.” 

“Great to meet you!” Anna shook her hand energetically. “And these, as you’ve probably deduced, are Graham and Killian.”  

“Yeah. Hi.” Emma smiled at the men, who nodded. 

“Hey, I’ve got an idea! We’re going to Nara this weekend with a Japanese friend of mine. Why don’t you come too! We can meet early and get your monthly pass before we leave!” 

Emma was beginning to wonder if Anna was able to speak without exclamation points. It was a bit intense. But she couldn’t help liking the bubbly Canadian and Graham and Killian were both smiling at her, and she had promised herself to be brave. 

“Okay,” she said. “Sounds like fun.” 

——

It was fun. In addition to Anna, Graham, and Killian there was Anna’s friend Kayoko and two other teachers, one a round young man who informed Emma she would have to call him Smee. 

“Because my name is William, but _he’s_ named Will,” he explained. “So. To avoid confusion, you know.” 

_He_ turned out to be a short, _very_ talkative man with an accent Killian insisted was also English, though it didn’t sound much like his own. 

“Will’s from London,” said Killian apologetically as they left Nara train station and headed out into streets that were noticeably less crowded than those in Osaka. “I’m afraid he doesn’t know  any better.” 

“And where are you from?”

“Somerset.” At her blank look, he elaborated. “It’s in the West Country— southwest England. Pirate country.” 

“ _Pirate_ country?”

“Aye, lass,” he said in an exaggerated pirate voice. “Pirate country, _arrrr!_ ” 

She laughed. “You’re making that up.”

“ _Would_ I?”

“Yes.” She’d only known him a few days but she was absolutely certain he would. 

“Okay, maybe I would, but I promise you this is a real thing. The pirate accent is from Bristol, and Bristol is in Somerset, or at least it was. Don’t mock my heritage, love.” 

“I wasn’t—” she began indignantly, then caught the twinkle in his eyes. “Hmmph,” she huffed, trying not to smile. “I’m not your love.” 

“Pity,” said Killian, holding her gaze for a breathless moment and then Graham called his name and he turned away. 

They made their way slowly towards Tōdai-ji temple, along the wide paved pathway that cut through the grassy and tree-lined field called Nara Park, where dozens of small deer frolicked in the grass. 

“Oh, look!” cried Emma. 

“Yes,” said Kayoko. “Famous deer. You want to feed them?” 

“Can I?”

“Many people do.” Kayoko led them to a wooden stall along the path where they each bought a bag of round wafer-like discs which they cautiously offered to the deer who came running up to greet them. 

“They like the food,” Kayoko informed them. “But they bite.” 

“Mind your fingers,” murmured Killian in Emma’s ear. 

Emma held out a disc to one deer, who ate it politely. 

“They don’t seem that— oh!” Emma jumped as another deer barged past the first and butted her hand with its nose. “Okay.” She took out another wafer and offered it to the second deer, and then a third, and before she knew it she was surrounded by a crowd of furry brown faces and out of food. 

“I don’t have any more,” she informed them, holding up her empty hands, but the deer butted their noses against her pockets and her bag, and she was beginning to wonder if they might actually attack her when a large, warm hand enveloped hers. 

“Come on, lass,” said Killian, amusement in his voice. “Let’s make a run for it.” He pulled her through the crowd of deer and and together they dashed back to the pathway, laughing breathlessly. 

“Thanks,” said Emma. “I was starting to fear for my life.” 

“Aye, me too.” 

He let go of her hand but the electric tingle of his touch remained, buzzing across the skin of her palm. She looked up to find him watching her with a slightly dazed expression. Then he blinked, and smiled his flirtatious smile. 

“Shall we go see this temple, then, love?”

“Still not your love,” said Emma, still breathless. “But yeah, let’s go.” 

As they walked the group mixed and mingled and Emma learned that all of them had been on the same two planes and had arrived together in Japan a month ago in the same “wave.”

“And we’ve sort of hung out together ever since,” said Anna. “Who was in your wave?”

“I’m not sure I had one.” 

“Didn’t anyone else start along with you?”

“There was only one other person when I got here, this guy Walsh.” 

“Oh. I think I’ve met him. Ew.” 

“Ew is the word.” 

“But you didn’t have a group or anything? No group meeting the first night you arrived?” 

“No. They took me straight to my apartment the first night and I fell asleep.” 

“Huh, no wonder you didn’t know about the monthly pass. That’s kinda weird. I don’t know anyone else without a group.” 

_Typical,_ thought Emma. _I’m alone even when I’m not supposed to be._  

 Anna caught the expression on her face and looped their arms together, giving her a bright smile. “It’s probably just because you started so late in the year,” she said. “But never mind, you’ve got us now. We’ll take you under our wing, little chickadee.” She laughed and Emma joined in, unable to resist. Anna was weird, but it was a _nice_ weird. 

Kayoko turned out to be an amazing tour guide. Her English was a bit stilted but she had immense knowledge of Japanese history and culture. Tōdai-ji, she explained, was an old Buddhist temple, still in use, and inside it was the world’s largest bronze statue of Buddha. The group listened attentively as she spoke and took pictures of everything she pointed out and Emma actually spotted Killian round the side of the Buddha with a tiny notebook and pen, scribbling rapidly. 

“Are you taking notes?” she asked, amused. 

“No.” He quickly stuffed the notebook into his jacket pocket. His off-duty clothes were a vast improvement on his work clothes, she thought. Jeans that hugged his ass and a t-shirt that skimmed his torso and a leather jacket that moulded to his shoulders. Chin unshaved, hair messy. He looked damned good. 

He also looked embarrassed. 

“You were, weren’t you?” she pressed. 

“I wasn’t—” 

“Let me see that notebook, then.” 

“No.” 

“Because you were using it to take notes.” 

“Look, if I admit I was taking notes will you let it drop?” The tips of his ears were pink and he was rubbing nervously at a spot behind the right one, his expression anxious. Emma felt a stab of guilt. She’d thought they were just joking around. 

“Of course.” She took a step back. “I’m sorry.” 

Killian shrugged, burying his hands in his jeans pockets. “It’s all right, lass. I just— the notebook is something I don’t really want to talk about just yet is all.”  

He looked vulnerable without his cocky, flirty grin, vulnerable and a bit lost. She felt the weirdest urge to _touch_ him, to take his hand again, to see if the electricity that still tingled on her palm would reignite. 

“Okay,” she told him. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

His worried expression melted into a bright smile with no teasing twinkle, just warmth softening the blue of his eyes as he held her gaze. 

“Emma! Killian!” Anna’s voice rang out through the hush in the temple, followed quickly by the woman herself. “Kayoko says there’s a good restaurant nearby, do you want to go get some lunch?”

“Sure.” Emma forced herself to turn and nod at Anna though her heart was thundering. 

“Sounds lovely, lass,” said Killian, his eyes still on Emma. 

Anna’s lively smile slipped as her eyes darted between them but she quickly fixed it back in place. “Well come on!” she cried and after some slightly embarrassed shuffling Emma and Killian followed her. 

—

Killian sat next to Emma in the restaurant, casually, elbowing her as she sipped her miso soup. 

“So what to you reckon to this Japanese food, then, love?” he asked. 

“I like it,” said Emma. “I don’t know what it is I’m eating half the time, but it’s all been amazing.” 

Killian laughed. “I know what you mean,” he said. “Have you tried takoyaki yet?” 

“No, what’s that?”

“Oh, you’ve got to try takoyaki!” cried Anna from across the table. “They sell them in the park in front of Osaka Castle, we should go!” 

“Okay,” laughed Emma. “But what are they?”

“Octopus balls,” said Smee, and the whole table sniggered. 

“Okay what am I missing?” demanded Emma. 

“Takoyaki are octopus tentacles,” explained Killian. “Cooked in batter in this special mould that forms them into ball shapes. It’s an Osaka specialty.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. They love their octopus balls here, right Kayoko?”

“Takoyaki is very popular food.” Kayoko confirmed. “Very traditional.” 

“Everyone loves a good octopus ball, mate!” said Will, winking at her. 

“Well, all right,” said Emma, reminding herself that she was here to try new things. “It can’t hurt to try.” 

— 

The takoyaki was disgusting. Emma spit it into her napkin and the look on her face had Killian doubled over in laughter. 

“Ugh,” she said, “No. The taste isn’t bad but you can feel the tentacles on your tongue, with those little suckers…” she trailed off with a shiver of horror. “Not for me.”   

Killian took the oblong wooden bowl containing her five remaining takoyaki and poked one with his toothpick. “I love them,” he said, popping it in his mouth. “Mmmmm.” He chewed with exaggerated relish. “Tentacles. Delicious.”

Emma made dramatic gagging noises and Killian nearly spit out his own mouthful when he started laughing again, so loudly that the other people visiting the castle turned to stare.

Osaka Castle rose up behind them where they stood on the dusty gravel path that led to its main entrance, bright white in the slanting light of the early December afternoon, the gilt decoration along its swooping green roofs glinting in the sun. Emma couldn’t believe it was December already; the week since their trip to Nara had flown by, though not a day of it had passed without some small flirtation between her and Killian. A wink, a teasing remark, a shared sip of vending-machine coffee or a bite of a mochi sweet. Something was brewing between them, and though it was still far too early to say _what_ exactly, whatever it was had butterflies dancing in Emma’s belly whenever she saw him.  

Anna, who had been sharing her bowl of takoyaki with Smee, watched them with her habitual smile a bit strained around the edges. 

“Don’t you like it, Emma?” she asked, and the edge in her tone had Emma looking at her in surprise. 

“Nope,” she confirmed. “Definitely not my thing.” 

“More for me,” said Killian cheerfully as he polished off another. “Next we’ll try you on sushi, see how that goes. What do you say, love?” His grin was warm, his eyes glinting with a flirtatious challenge that Emma could not resist.

“Sure why not,” she replied, looking at him through her lashes with a smile that was decidedly coy. “I’ll try anything once.” 

 Killian’s eyes went wide and Anna’s smile grew a bit more strained. 

“Anything?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow coolly though there was a faint flush across his cheekbones. 

“ _Any_ thing.” 

Killian cleared his throat. “Good to know,” he said. 

Anna stabbed the last takoyaki in her bowl and chomped it forcefully. 

When they had finished eating the four of them took a walk around the castle before heading back to the subway station. 

Emma fell into step with Anna as they walked. “Hey,” she said, bumping the other woman’s shoulder in a way she hoped was friendly. Aside from Ruby she didn’t have a lot of female friends, and this was slightly new territory for her. “Is everything okay?”

“Sure! Fine!” Anna replied brightly. “Why do you ask?” 

“You just seemed… a bit off, I guess.” 

“Well, I’m not,” said Anna, but the edge in her voice was back. “Just… don’t push anything with Killian okay?”

“What?” Emma gaped at her. “What are you talking about?”

Anna shook her head. “Nothing. It’s— it’s nothing. Never mind.” 

She moved ahead to walk with Smee, leaving Emma frowning in bafflement behind her. 

— 

Takoyaki may have been a disaster for Emma but sushi was a triumph. Three days after their trip to the castle she, Killian, and Smee went for lunch at a tiny restaurant tucked away in the famous covered shopping street of Shinsaibashi-suji, beneath a flashing neon sign in the shape of a sinuous dragon. 

The sushi was made fresh in a kitchen on the left side of the restaurant, and served on little plates that moved around the room on a conveyor belt, going in and out of the kitchen area through a curtain made of plastic strips exactly like the one Emma had seen at the ramen place her first day in Japan. 

550 yen (700 for the men) bought as much sushi as the luncher could eat plus miso soup and a drink. NOVA teachers had an unofficial running competition over how many plates they could eat in one sitting, though not one of them had yet managed to match the old Japanese men who could frequently be found sitting in the corner eating sushi for hours on end, their stacks of plates growing so high they had to be cleared away lest they topple over. 

Emma tried the salmon and the tuna, and the whitefish and the rolled omelet and even the eel. 

She did not try the octopus. 

“Can’t tempt you, love?” teased Killian, waving a crinkle-edged piece of sushi in front of her nose. 

“I can see the suckers from here,” said Emma. “They are no less horrifying for being sliced thinly.” 

Killian chuckled and ate the sushi with a hum of enjoyment. Emma smiled as she watched him. He was wearing another of his awkward suits and cheap ties since they had to head to work as soon as lunch was over. He was freshly shaven, too, which made her a bit sad, but the dress code at their job was a rigid one. 

They worked at the NOVA Education Group’s Multi-Media Centre, which was an enormous concern spread over three floors of a thirty storey building. Each day they arrived on the fourteenth floor where they clocked in using paper punch cards and swapped out their street shoes for slippers. 

Slippers in the office was a Japanese tradition Emma could get behind. As someone who had worked as a waitress for years, anything that kept her feet comfy while she was working was in her mind a very good thing. 

After clocking in and changing their shoes they sat down at the picnic-style tables where they spent their mid-shift breaks, and scanned the huge screens that hung from the ceiling for their names. The screens told them what their seat assignment was for the day, floor and cubicle. 

“I’m on sixteen,” said Emma on the day they tried the sushi, about three weeks after her arrival in Japan. She had managed ten plates and felt like she might explode at any second. Killian and Smee, who had eaten fifteen and nineteen respectively, seemed no worse for it. She scowled slightly as they came up behind her. “What about you guys?” 

“Fifteen,” said Anna.

“Me too,” said Smee, and Graham and Will were on fifteen as well. 

“I’m on sixteen,” said Killian. “Walk up with you, love?”

Emma’s scowl smoothed out. “Sure.” 

They took the stairs, preferring to avoid the elevator whenever possible. It was fast enough all things considered, but there were thirty floors in the building and they only had to go up two of them. Arriving on the sixteenth floor they discovered that their assigned cubicles —rectangular wooden tables separated into two squares by wooden dividers and equipped with a desktop computer and a bulky grey connection device that sat atop the monitor— were across the aisle from each other, meaning they could lean their chairs back and talk before their classes started. 

“What’ve you got?” Killian asked. 

“Hmmm.” Emma scrolled through her students’ class records, looking for one that neither of them had completed. “I think today I’ll talk about animals.” 

“And I shall be practicing expressing anger,” said Killian. 

“Ooh, I like that one. The roleplay can be hilarious.” 

“Well I’ve only got one student assigned. So it looks like we’ll be roleplaying together, Kouki and I.” 

The classes they taught consisted of between one and three students who used their own connection devices, provided as part of their NOVA package, attached to their own home computer or television to connect to the system which then directed them to their assigned class. It was a bit like a closed internet system —in _tra_ net, Killian insisted it would be called— and it allowed their students to take classes at any time of day or night and from anywhere that had a screen and a phone line they could use to connect. The week before Emma had taught a man who worked as a forest ranger and lived in a remote cabin on top of a mountain. 

The teacher’s job was to select a class to teach —preferably one that all three had not done before, though this wasn’t always possible. Students bought packages of hundreds of classes, and if they weren’t able to advance to the next level after completing all the classes at their current one, they would do those classes over. Emma had taught students who’d done the same class three, four, even five times. 

Five minutes before the class began the teachers opened the classroom and waited for the students to connect. When they did, their faces appeared on the screen in one of four boxes that it was divided into. Three boxes for the students, one for the teacher. The beginning of the class was announced by a bell that rang for ten seconds through the MM Centre and also over the system. When the last peal had finished chiming, the teachers turned on their cameras and greeted their students. 

If the students did not connect before the class began, they were blocked from it and their devices would not work until their next class. If no students appeared, the teacher could close the class and have a free period. 

Emma opened her class and read through her students’ past reports until the five minutes were nearly up. When only a minute remained, she looked at her screen. “No one’s here yet,” she said. 

“How many are you expecting?” 

“Two.” 

Well, here’s hoping,” said Killian, and they put their headphones on as the bell began to chime. 

When silence fell and Emma’s screen remained empty of students, she gave a sigh of relief and closed the class. She enjoyed teaching, far more than she’d thought she would, but a free period was always nice. 

Picking up her book she leaned back in her chair and began to read. A moment later Killian’s chair tilted back as well and she smiled when she saw him doing the same. 

“No show?” he mouthed at her. No talking was allowed during class time, except to students. She nodded. “Same,” he mouthed, then indicated her book. “What are you reading?”

Emma held up her Terry Pratchett, still the same one she’d been reading on the day they met. Normally she was a much faster reader but she’d been so busy exploring Osaka that she hadn’t had the time. 

A broad grin creased Killian’s face and he held up his own book… also by Terry Pratchett. Emma grinned in return, and when he gestured for them to swap books she agreed readily. 

Killian read the blurb on the back of her book then opened it, frowning slightly when he saw what was written on the inside cover. He looked up at her. 

“What?” she mouthed. 

He took out his notebook, the one he’d had in Nara, and scribbled something  on a piece of paper. Ripping it from the notebook he handed it to her. 

_Is your last name Swan?_ it said. 

Emma was confused for a minute then realised she’d introduced herself to her new friends simply as Emma. It was weird to think she’d been hanging out with Killian practically every day of the past two weeks and he didn’t even know her name. 

She didn’t know his either. 

_It is,_ she wrote back. _What’s yours?_

Killian took the note and smiled, scribbling briefly before returning it. 

_Swan suits you. Mine is Jones. Do you think that suits me?_

Killian Jones, she thought. It did suit him. 

_Nice to meet you, Killian Jones,_ she wrote. _Can I have my book back?_

His eyebrow rose as he read. _Of course, Swan,_ he wrote back. _Provided you’ll allow me to borrow it once you’re done._  

_Sure. And can I borrow yours?_

_Most definitely. Terry Pratchett should be shared. Which characters do you like best?_  

_I like Death,_ wrote Emma. _And Susan._  

_I’m partial to the wizards of the Unseen University myself. And of course the Night Watch,_ he replied 

_Carrot ❤️❤️_ wrote Emma.

_Nobby ❤️❤️_ wrote Killian.

Emma laughed, earning her a glare from the supervisor. 

They passed notes back and forth for the rest of the class time, and when the break between classes arrived Killian came over and leaned on his arms on the wall of her cubicle, continuing their discussion for so long that he had to almost dive back into his own to get his class prepared in time. 

Despite their daily flirting Emma and Killian had never actually spent that much time just with each other before, but unlike what often happens when a group dynamic abruptly becomes a pair one, there wasn’t any awkwardness in their conversation. Instead it felt comfortable, natural, but with that ever-present frisson of electricity that had Emma’s skin buzzing and the butterflies in her belly doing somersaults. Killian flirted a lot less than she’d come to expect from him but charmed her far more, letting more of himself —his intelligence and enthusiasm, the softness under the innuendo— show through, and by the time they went downstairs to meet their friends for dinner Emma felt that their casual friendship had turned an invisible corner. She liked Killian, more than she’d liked anyone in a long time, but beyond that she could feel a _potential_ between them, a possibility for something big and serious that was thrilling but also terrified her.  Could she handle it, so soon after the disaster of Neal? Did she even want to? 

The look in Killian’s eyes as he offered her half his red bean paste bun at dinner, the look in them when she accepted, the way he smiled when her own eyes widened in delight, made her think that maybe — _maybe_ — she did.  


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IN WHICH there is Christmas dinner and intense bonding, drunken shenanigans, and smut!
> 
> THANK YOU ALL for the lovely response to this story! As I said it’s a very personal one, and slower and sweeter than the kinds of things I usually write. I loved living in Japan and writing this has been a trip down memory lane that I’ve very much enjoyed. I’m so pleased you’re enjoying it too!

Christmas was, of course, not a holiday celebrated in Japan. 

Of _course_ it wasn’t, thought Emma, as she got ready for work on the 25th of December, five weeks after she’d moved to Osaka. Japan was a primarily Buddhist and Shinto country, and also, as Belle had explained to them in their last team meeting, the New Year was _huge_ , and they would have a full week off for that. Emma understood.

But still, going to work on Christmas felt weird. 

She’d already Skyped with Ingrid and Ruby and wished them Merry Christmas. There was snow in Storybrooke and her adoptive mom had carried the laptop outside to show her the snowman she and Leo had built, and all the presents under the tree, and even though Emma knew it was really just another day on the calendar, although she’d already lived through missing Thanksgiving, although Christmas carols played _everywhere_ in Osaka _all. the. time._ since she’d arrived, she still couldn’t help feeling sad. 

Adventure, she reminded herself as she grabbed her bag and headed for the door. Trying new things. There would be other Christmases.  

The expat pubs in Osaka, of which there were very, very many, seemed to understand her melancholy, or at least found a way to profit off it. Every one of them offered “Christmas dinner:” a choice of roast turkey or beef with potatoes and vegetables, smothered in gravy and accompanied by a pint of Guinness. 

“I like a good roast dinner as much as anyone,” remarked Killian as they stood in a hugely crowded pub, looking for a seat and observing as those already seated ate their food, “But that is not a good roast dinner.” 

“It suits me, mate,” said Will. “I intend to get pissed tonight, all I need is somethin’ to cushion the alcohol.” 

“Well, I’m going to find a less… popular place to celebrate the Yuletide,” said Killian. “If anyone would care to join me?”

“I will.” Emma didn’t like the look of the roast meats or the thin gravy, plus it was too loud in the pub and far too hot. She felt claustrophobic and very un-Christmassy.

“And me.” Anna had been subdued all day, for the past few days actually, and the prospect of a Christmas dinner had cheered her almost back to her usual self. But now she looked down again. “Let’s get out of here.” 

The three of them headed out into the streets, still busy and bustling though it was nearly midnight, and decided to walk towards Shinsaibashi. 

“There must be someplace there that’s nicer than that bloody pub,” said Killian. “I don’t know why we go to that place so often, if I wanted a piss-up in a run-down local I’d’ve fucking stayed at home.” 

Everyone was grumpy tonight, thought Emma. They could all use some Christmas spirit. 

“We could always go to KFC,” she attempted to joke. “A student told me today that’s a Japanese Christmas tradition. A bucket of KFC and a strawberry cake.” 

“No,” said Killian firmly. “I want a decent meal. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.” 

“So have I,” Anna agreed. 

They pushed forward through the thickening crowds, but when they reached the entrance to the covered part of Shinsaibashi-suji, where the lights were so bright it almost rivalled daytime and where shops, restaurants, pachinko parlours, and karaoke bars were all jumbled together in a bright mess of noise and energy, Anna held back. 

“I don’t know if I’m really feeling this,” she said. 

“What’s wrong?” Emma asked her. “You seem down.” 

“Yeah, I just— I don’t want a lot of noise. Can we maybe try someplace else? What about down here?”

They turned down a quieter side street, still bright and bustling but far less crowded. After a few minutes Anna stopped. 

“How about this place?” she asked, indicating a red-fronted building with a dark-painted wooden door and a sign outside proclaiming it Osaka’s best steakhouse in _almost_ correct English. 

“Charley Brown’s?” said Emma, reading the sign. “Yeah, okay. Fine with me.” 

Killian opened the door and they went in, indicated with hand gestures to the smiling and bowing hostess that they wanted a table for three, then followed her up the stairs to a small candlelit table in a quiet corner of the spacious room. 

“This is nice,” said Emma, determinedly cheerful. 

“Aye, it really is,” agreed Killian. His earlier mood seemed to have lifted, but Anna was still frowning. 

She hovered next to the table as Emma and Killian sat down. “I don’t think I can do this,” she said. 

“Do what?” said Emma, trying not to be annoyed. “I wish you’d tell us what’s wrong.”

“It’s— it’s Kristoff,” she said, looking sideways at Killian. “My ex. I— he— I talked to him last night and I’m just— I’m not feeling great.”  

“Do you want to talk about it?” offered Emma.

“No. Thanks. I think I just want to be alone.” She tried to smile, though the strain in her face was evident. “You guys stay though, please. Have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Okay. See you.” Emma watched her go, then turned to Killian. “What was that about?”

He scratched behind his ear. “I think she’s just having some troubles with people from home,” he said. “She and her ex ended in a weird place.” 

Emma could tell that wasn’t the whole story but she wasn’t going to try to pry someone else’s secrets from Killian. He and Anna were close and had been friends before she’d met either of them, and it really wasn’t her business. 

Yet Anna’s departure left her and Killian alone together in an atmosphere that was undeniably and inescapably romantic. Their table was small and felt secluded in its little corner, lit with tea lights in decorative holders and by the soft glow of the shaded wall sconces above them. It was intimate and elegant, and the nicest restaurant Emma had ever been in. 

“Well,” said Killian brightly. “What looks good?”

The menu was extensive and a bit confusing, but Emma’s attention was caught by a small card tucked between the salt and pepper shakers on the table, advertising a Christmas meal that looked delicious, far better than what the pub had been offering. Five courses plus wine for 4,000 yen. It was expensive, but it was also Christmas, and Emma felt like she’d earned it. 

“I think I might just try this,” she said. 

Killian picked up the card and nodded. “Sounds great,” he agreed. “I’ll do the same.” 

The waiter appeared and they gave their order, and once he had taken it and bowed himself away, silence fell between Killian and Emma, alone with each other for the first time and for the first time feeling awkward. 

Emma was determined not to be. 

“So are you ever going to tell me the story of your notebook?” she asked him, a hint of challenge in her tone. 

“Do I look like Nicholas Sparks?” quipped Killian, and she chuckled politely but she knew deflection when she saw it, and she was not about to let it slide. 

“I have no idea,” she retorted, “But I suspect your notebook would be a heck of a lot more interesting than his.” 

“Not a Sparks fan then Swan?”

“Stop trying to change the subject.” 

Killian sighed, and rubbed behind his ear again. Emma made a mental note to play poker with him someday; with a tell that obvious he’d be an easy mark. 

“Well if you must know I was taking notes because… because I’m thinking I might write a book. Someday. And when I have ideas I think could possibly go in it, I write them down.” His ears had gone pink, and the tops of his cheeks. Emma could not have been more charmed. 

“Why would you feel like you needed to hide that?” she asked. “I think it’s amazing.” 

He shrugged. “It’s just theoretical at this point, I haven’t actually written anything. But I used to write short stories when I was younger and my brother always said—” he broke off. 

“What did he say?” she prompted.

“He said I had a gift.” Killian replied in a low voice. 

“Sounds like a good brother.” 

“He was.” 

“Was? What happened?” The words were out before she could think better of them, and she tensed, hoping she hadn’t pushed too far.

“He died.”  

She remembered what he’d said during their first meeting, on the subway. “Was that the funeral you wore the tie to?” she asked.  “The tie you threw away?”

He nodded, looking down at his hands where they rested on the table. “Yes.” 

“I’m so sorry, Killian.” 

“It was a long time ago.” He looked away again. 

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt.” She knew this, of course. Firsthand.

“No.” 

She also knew how important it was to talk about things that hurt. “Will you tell me about him?”

Killian looked up at her and she sensed apprehension but also relief, that he actually badly wanted to talk about this with someone who would understand. That he was hoping she would understand.

He had no idea just how much she did understand. 

“Liam was my hero. That might sound foolish—” 

“It doesn’t.” 

“—but he was. He was eight years older than me but he always used to let me tag along with him and his friends. I didn’t realise what a big deal that was until I got older myself. In the summer he would take me to the library and help me find books to read and then sometimes we would get the train to Weymouth and go to the beach. He made me play rugby even though I do _not_ have the build for it because he thought it would make me tougher than football would, and when our father went into drunken rages he would take the brunt of it to protect me.” 

These last words came out all in a rush and his expression was almost defiant, expecting pity or judgement. 

She offered neither, just took his hand and squeezed it hard. 

“How did he die?” she asked. “If you don’t mind telling me.” 

“I don’t like to talk about it, but… I think I’d like for _you_ to know.” He took a deep breath and his fingers tightened on hers. “It was a car accident. Just a stupid, pointless accident, only I was driving. I was seventeen and practicing for my driving test, and I turned onto a busy road and some arsehole wasn’t watching where he was going and plowed into the passenger side, and killed my brother. Instantly. Just like that and he was gone. The police said there was nothing I did wrong, but I can’t help feeling like—” 

“Like you should have been able to do something to prevent it.” 

Relief flashed in his eyes, and gratitude. “Yeah.” 

“I get it. My parents died in a car accident too.”

Relief turned to empathy. “Oh, love.” 

“Yeah. I was twelve, and my brother Leo was two. So we have that in common too, that big gap between siblings. My dad was killed instantly, like your brother, but my mom died pulling me and Leo out of the wreckage.” She paused, blinking tears back, breathing deeply, pushing down the panic this memory still incited, even after more than a decade. “She pulled me out first, I was easier to reach, then told me to wait while she went back for Leo. She got him free but she had internal bleeding and strained herself too much.”

Her voice broke, and Killian held her hand even tighter. “Fucking hell,” he whispered. 

“Yeah.” She swallowed hard, focused on her breathing. “It was pretty awful. My mom— she put Leo in my arms and then she collapsed and never got up again, and I— I have spent the past eleven years thinking if only I had stayed with her maybe I could have saved them both.” Her confession came in a rush, as his had done. 

“Or maybe you’d have been killed too.” Killian’s voice was hoarse. “You were a child, Emma, there is _nothing_ you could have done. 

“Maybe. As it was all I had was a few bruises and Leo barely a scratch.” 

“But that’s good, love. You had your brother, and he had you. I’m sure knowing that would have made your parents happy.” 

It was the kindest thing _anyone_ had ever said to her about the accident, much less someone who had lost his own brother so cruelly. Emma felt the tears she’d been fighting back spill over, and wiped her eyes with an embarrassed laugh. 

“So that’s why you don’t like wearing ties,” she tried to joke. “At least that mystery is solved.” 

“Aye. My father made me wear one to the funeral and cuffed me on the side of the head when I protested, said I was being _disrespectful_ to Liam’s memory.” Fury flashed in his eyes, barely leashed, offering a glimpse of how terrifying he would be if he ever let it loose. Showing that his memories were as fresh as hers were. “Like he hadn’t spent Liam’s entire fucking life being _disrespectful_ , like it’s so _respectful_ to take out your drunken bitterness on your own bloody child.”

“So what did you do?”

“I put on the tie and I went to the funeral. Then when my brother was in the ground I burned the tie, and the suit, punched my father in his fucking face and left. I haven’t seen him since.” 

Emma could imagine him, young and lost and drowning in pain and fury. She wanted to hug him, but instead she gently rubbed her thumb across his fingers. “Where did you go?”

“I’ve always loved the sea so I went down to Weymouth, where I used to go to the beach with Liam. I went to the harbour there and found myself a job as a labourer on a fishing boat, backbreaking work but I was lucky to get it. I worked there for just over a year, until I had enough money saved to pay for university. What about you? What happened after your parents passed?”

“It was pretty confusing for a while. We stayed with my friend Ruby and her grandmother since my parents didn’t have any close family to take us in, but then the state wanted to put us into the foster system. They said they’d keep us together, but I didn’t trust them, so when the social worker came to talk to us I wouldn’t let her in. I held the door shut and then I kicked and scratched and bit her, and eventually she gave up and left. She was furious. She shouted at me that Leo could be adopted into a nice family and if I was good they’d take me too. She said I was going to ruin his life, but I knew my parents would have wanted him to grow up with his own family. Even if that was only me.” She gave a self-deprecating shrug. 

“Eventually my mother’s distant cousin, Ingrid, heard about what happened. She came and found us and took custody of us. Three years later she adopted us. She even moved to the little town where we lived so that we wouldn’t have to be separated from our friends and familiar surroundings.” She sniffed as tears prickled behind her eyes again. “I don’t know what we’d have done without her.”

Killian smiled, though he looked teary himself. “So a happy ending, then, of a sort.” 

“As happy as it could be I suppose. Leo’s thirteen now and he’s a normal, happy kid. He loves Ingrid and doesn’t remember our parents, which—” she paused and took a deep breath before speaking, words she had never uttered to another person, words she had barely even managed to think. But she’d already told him so much, what was one more painful revelation? She could analyse her seemingly irresistible urge to spill all her secrets to him sometime later. “—I almost envy him for that,” she whispered. “I miss them so much. Even after all this time. I cry every day on the anniversary of their deaths.” 

Killian’s hand shifted in hers, and she felt the soft brush of his thumb across her knuckles. “I cry on the anniversary of Liam’s,” he said, in a voice that held sadness and pain and profound empathy. He understood, of course. She’d known he would. 

The waiter arrived with their first courses, shattering the intimate mood, and abruptly they were self-conscious, pulling their hands apart and smiling with forced cheerfulness as plates were set before them. Emma could still feel the imprint of Killian’s fingers in hers as she picked up her fork. 

“This looks good!” she said brightly. 

“Aye. Far better than that slop from the pub.” 

They ate in silence for a minute and Emma, desperate for the ease of understanding between them not to grow strained searched for some topic of conversation less heavy than dead families. 

“So why did you—” she began.

“What brings you to—” started Killian, and they laughed. 

“I was just going to ask why you came to Japan,” said Emma. 

“Funny, that’s what I was going to ask you.” 

She grinned at him. “You first.” 

“Well it’s not that interesting a story, really. After uni I took an awful boring job, in public relations. I’ve no idea why I even took it, my degree is in Modern Languages, but they needed someone who spoke French so they offered it to me. The salary was better than any other offers I’d had and they said they were a ‘cool young’ firm and I wouldn’t have to wear a suit, so I thought why the fuck not for a year or two. But then before I knew it, it was five years later and I was bloody miserable. I hated every morning I had to wake up and go to work, but I stayed in the job because I didn’t really have any idea what else I even wanted to do. Then one day out of nowhere I ran into Graham in London. We’d been at uni together and hadn’t seen each other since, so we went for a drink to catch up and he told me he was there for an interview to teach in Japan. He made it sound like an amazing opportunity, said I should come too since they were still recruiting, and I had always wanted to go to Asia so I said I’d give it some thought. And then the next day my boss told me they were cutting the staff and offered me voluntary redundancy and I said hell yes, took the money, and before I was even out the door was on the phone with Graham for the details of that job.” 

“Wow, it’s lucky you ran into him.” 

“Indeed. We weren’t ever that close and I hadn’t spoken to him in years. It was just a weird coincidence that we happened to be in the same place at the same time. What?” he asked, seeing her face. 

“Nothing, really, it’s just I’m kinda here by weird coincidence too.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I— I wanted to get away. From my life, and from my ex.” She glanced up at him, hoping he wouldn’t ask for details. She really didn’t want to talk about Neal, not with Killian. But he just nodded for her to continue. “So I just randomly googled ‘jobs in other countries’ and this came up. I’d never even considered going to Japan or even leaving the US, but it was like once the idea got into my head I couldn’t get rid of it. I felt like I _had_ to go. Ruby thought I was nuts.” She laughed. “Maybe I was. But also, like, the interviews were being held in Boston, which is a three hour drive and a longer train ride and I wouldn’t normally have ben able to manage it, but the day they wanted to interview me I happened to have plans to be in Boston anyway, with Ruby actually. It was just all so easy, like it just fell into place. I don’t normally believe in signs, but that sure as hell felt like one.”

Killian shook his head, an odd, small smile on his face. 

“What?” she asked him. 

“I was just thinking of all the little things that had to come together in order for us to meet,” he said. “The odds against it were staggering.” 

“And yet here we are,” she said softly, matching his smile with her own. 

“Here we are,” he agreed. 

—

They left the restaurant feeling content, full of wine and good food and the excitement humming softly beneath their skin at this hazy, undefined, unspoken-but-still-very-real _thing_ that was blossoming between them, the attraction and the understanding and the sense of kinship that was unlike anything either had experienced before. Killian held the door for her and then when they fell into step his hand brushed against hers and Emma thought the spark might actually set her on fire. She edged closer and let her knuckles brush his in a way that was unmistakably deliberate, then his fingertips were tracing across her palm and— 

“Oi, Jones! Emma!” 

Will’s voice rang out from across the street and Killian and Emma all but leapt apart. 

She didn’t know why, Emma thought crossly. They hadn’t been doing anything, yet the _nothing_ they’d been doing was new and fragile and intensely personal, and she imagined Killian didn’t want their friends interfering in it any more than she did. 

She glanced at him and he shot her a wry grin, and they crossed the street to join the group. Will was with Graham and Smee and all three were very much the worse for alcohol. 

“We are goin’,” said Will, with the painstaking enunciation of the very intoxicated, “to sing karaoke. An’ you two,” he poked Killian’s chest with his finger. “Are comin’ along.”

“Mate—” began Killian, glancing again at Emma. 

“Come on!” Will grabbed Killian’s arm and took a step forward, stumbling over the curb into the street and almost sending both himself and Killian flying headfirst into the gutter. 

Killian steadied them both. “I’m not sure you’re in any state for karaoke, mate,” he said. “Maybe we should all just go home.” 

“The night is young!” declared Will. 

“It’s almost four a.m.” 

“And we don’t ‘ave to be at work until three p.m.!” 

Killian looked imploringly at Smee and Graham. 

“Killian’s right, Scarlet,” said Graham. “You’re plastered and the rest of us are knackered, let’s get a taxi and go home. We’ll do karaoke another time.” 

“Fine if you lot don’t wanna sing. But I am not goin’ home yet,” retorted Will, pulling his arm away from Killian and stalking off, as best he could stalk when he could barely keep his own feet under him. They watched him stagger for a minute, and finally Graham sighed. 

“I’ll go after him,” he said. “Get him home safe. You guys don’t have to wait.” 

“You sure?” said Smee. “I can go with—” 

“No, you get a taxi with Emma and Killian, you all live in the same direction so it makes sense.” 

Emma and Killian exchanged looks. It did make sense, but Smee lived at the same subway stop as Killian, which meant…

“Okay.” Smee grinned at Emma. “I’ll be h— happy to escort you home, my lady.” She felt Killian tense up beside her, and when she glanced at him his jaw was clenched tight. He caught her eye and shrugged. What could they do? Ditch Smee because they wanted to be alone in the taxi, maybe go back to one or the other’s apartment together? 

_Was_ that what they wanted? 

It was definitely what Emma wanted, and she thought Killian did too, but they could hardly discuss that here. 

Graham said goodbye and hurried after Will, chasing him deeper into the noise and crowds of Shinsaibashi, while Emma, Killian, and Smee turned in the other direction and headed for the taxi ranks on the quieter street of Midosuji. 

“Imazato chikatetsu eki, kudasai,” said Emma to the driver as she got into the taxi between Smee and Killian. Her stop was closest.  

“Imazato, hai!” he replied, and swerved the taxi in a sharp u-turn out into the street, tilting Emma almost into Killian’s lap. She braced herself against him and his hand came to rest on her knee, and when the taxi evened out along the wide avenue he didn’t move it. 

Emma shifted, as subtly as she could, leaning into Killian’s side and pressing her leg against his. She could tell he was looking at her but she didn’t turn her head, didn’t dare risk seeing his face. He moved his fingers against her knee, almost imperceptibly, and when she merely pressed her leg harder against his he slid his hand slowly up her thigh, just to the middle of it. Casually, she let her hand come to rest next to his, looping their little fingers together. She heard him exhale slowly, as if trying to control his breathing, and he shifted himself, pressing his body all along the length of hers and twining their fingers more tightly together. Emma glanced over at Smee, but he was leaning his head against the window, oblivious. 

All too soon they arrived at Imazato. Killian got out of the taxi to let Emma out. As she brushed past him he caught her waist and gave it a light squeeze. She looked up at his eyes, so blue in the bright lights from the subway station, brimming with emotions that made her heart race. _Another time,_ his eyes said, and she nodded. 

Emma ran across the street to her building and up the stairs two at a time, all five flights of them. She was feeling exhilarated and jumpy and humming with energy. She flung open the apartment door and kicked off her shoes, almost dancing into the living room. 

“Do you _mind_ ,” said Aurora’s voice from the sofa. “We are _watching_ a _movie_.” 

“Oh.” Emma turned to see Aurora and Mulan sprawled out with a laptop on the table in front of them, sharing a set of headphones. “Sorry. I thought you guys would be at work.” 

“We did a half day today,” said Mulan. 

“We finished about an hour ago,” added Aurora. “You’re back really late.” 

“Oh, I just went out to dinner with a friend. For Christmas. Um, Merry Christmas, by the way.” 

“About that,” said Aurora. “Just so you know, next week we’re having a party. For the New Year. With some friends from our shift. Just so you can make your own plans.” 

Mulan shot her an apologetic look, but Emma just shrugged. She was used to Aurora’s passive aggression by now. “That’s fine,” she said. “I’m, um, gonna go to bed now. See you guys later.” She could hear Aurora whispering as she slid her bedroom’s thin doors shut but she tuned it out. 

Her mind and heart were still racing as she got into her pajamas and flopped down on her futon. Just one more week, she thought, four more days of work and then they had nine days off for the New Year. Nine days of vacation, surely, _surely_ she and Killian could find some time to be alone with each other again. 

She closed her eyes with a smile and fell asleep thinking about him. 

— 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 

The following week passed much as the ones before it had. She saw Killian at work and he still flirted and shared his lunch with her and outwardly everything was _almost_ the same. And yet… whenever the group was together they made sure to stand next to each other, closer than they would have stood before. They sat closer too, at lunch, and shared little private smiles, and now and then when she was laughing or talking animatedly she looked up to catch him watching her with an intensity that made her heart pound.

After their shift on December 29th the group headed out, back to Shinsaibashi to a new bar Will wanted to try. 

“I hear they make some fuckin’ killer drinks, mates,” he said. “There’s this blue shite, right, that has five different shots of liquor.” 

“Five, really?” said Graham. “You’d be dead.” 

“Nah, mate, not after one. It’d take at least three to end _me_ ,” chortled Will. 

He held the door open for them with a flourish, and rubbed his hands together as it closed behind him. The room was brightly lit, done in shades of electric blue and glaring white and the bar was made of glass and decorated to look like a fish tank. Emma frowned at it, watching carefully until she was certain that the realistic-looking fish were not actually swimming. 

“I think they’re just… part of the glass?” said Anna. 

“Yeah, I think you’re right. Weird.” 

The bar’s glass top was scattered with laminated menus, featuring pictures of vibrantly hued drinks. 

“That’s it!” crowed Will, pointing at a drink the same blue shade as the neon sign above the bar. “That’s the one. I’ll ‘ave one a those, kudasai.” He pointed at the menu and the bartender nodded. 

“Make it six,” said Will, holding up his left hand with the five fingers splayed wide and his right index finger held vertically across its palm. “My treat, mates.” 

“Roku, hai,” acknowledged the bartender. 

The bar was staffed by three terrifyingly efficient men, and their drinks arrived quickly. Emma took a sip of hers and grimaced. It was good, but it was _strong_. 

“What the hell is in this?” she demanded. 

“Not sure,” said Will. “I think one is absinthe.” 

“Isn’t that illegal?” queried Anna.

“Maybe not in Japan,” suggested Graham. 

“Absinthe is green,” Killian informed them, holding his drink up to the light. “Famously so. I don’t think there’s anything green in here, this is likely the bluest substance known to man.” 

They all laughed and kept sipping, and the more they sipped the louder their laughter grew until the blue beverages were all consumed and Will was asking the bartender for more. 

“I don’ think I could drink more,” said Emma, leaning heavily against Killian as the room spun gently around her, not even caring about the sharp look Anna shot her as she clutched the sleeve of his suit jacket. She liked Anna, very much, and whenever they were alone the other woman was friendliness itself but as far as very-pleasantly-buzzed Emma was concerned, she needed either to say she wanted Killian or not say it, but all these little wordless glares whenever Emma was close to him were starting to get tiresome. 

Especially as Emma had every intention of getting much closer to him before the night was done. 

Will was arguing with the bartender who refused to make them more blue drinks, offering them every other colour on the menu, and Graham was trying to intervene. Smee was watching them with his habitual slightly vague expression and Anna was pretending to watch while actually keeping her eyes on Emma as she laid her head on Killian’s shoulder and his arm snuck around her waist. 

“All right, Swan?” he murmured. 

“Yeah.” She nodded. “I feel good.” 

It was one of the nicest buzzes she’d ever had, in fact. She felt light and loose and carefree, but not confused or out of control. Like she was floating on a marshmallow or rolling on a cloud of cotton candy. 

She giggled, which was not like her, nor was the whimsy. But maybe both were what she needed tonight, she thought. 

Will clapped his hands triumphantly as he won his argument with the bartender, who agreed to make them _one_ more blue drink. 

“Have at it, lads,” Will said, offering the drink around the group. Emma took a large swig then passed it to Killian, who did the same. She swayed as the added alcohol hit her, and now the cotton candy was in her brain, clouding her thoughts and sweetening them. She tugged on the lapels of Killian’s jacket. 

“Let’s go somewhere,” she said, hoping the words didn’t sound as slurred as they did in her head. 

He looked down at her, his eyes glassy but intensely focused. 

“Where?” he asked.  

“Somewhere. Anywhere. Just— take me somewhere.” 

His eyes widened as he caught her meaning, then dropped to her lips and he swallowed hard. She swayed towards him but the room was far too bright and too full of their friends for what they both wanted. 

He cleared his throat. “Are you sure, love?” he asked. “We’ve had a lot to drink—” 

“I’m sure.” 

He nodded, eyes still on her lips. “Yours?”

Emma struggled to think. Did Mulan and Aurora still work tonight, or— but it really didn’t matter because she wasn’t about to bring Killian to her place if there was _any_ chance of Aurora being present. “No, my roommates are home,” she said.  

“Is that a problem?”

“We have shoji doors, they are _literally_ made of paper.” 

“Ah. Well mine has normal doors but my flatmate is having a party.” 

Emma wanted to snarl in frustration. How did other people _do_ this when there was no _privacy_ in this country?

Then she remembered how, from the whispers of other teachers and the blasé tales of her students. 

“What about a love hotel?”

Killian’s eyes finally left her lips and he stared at her. “Really?”

“Oh, come on, like you haven’t wondered what they were like,” she teased. 

“I have definitely wondered, but—” 

“There’s one just down the street isn’t there?” 

“Emma, let’s think about this.” 

“I don’t want to think.” She clutched his lapels again, pressing her body as close to his as it could get, close enough that their breaths mingled, that she could feel the catch in his against her cheek. So close that half an inch was all that stood between them and the kiss they had both been craving for a week. For longer. 

Well, that half inch and four very rowdy drunken English teachers and a glaringly bright Japanese bar. 

“I just want to be alone with you,” whispered Emma. “Just you and me somewhere with a door that locks and where no one cares what we do.” She released him abruptly and stepped back, towards the door, grabbing his hand from around her waist and giving it a tug. “I don’t care if it’s tacky, that’ll be part of the fun. C’mon. I’ll pay.” 

“You absolutely will not,” said Killian, and she knew she had him. He glanced around them and seeing no one was looking wrapped his arm around her waist again and steered her to the door. “Let’s go.” 

They stumbled out into the bustling night, just drunk enough to make the flashing neon seem softly romantic. Killian held her close against his side, his arm firm around her waist, and she slid her hand into the back pocket of his trousers. A wild giggle rose in her throat as she realised they must look like the sort of couple people shouted at to get a room. 

And that was exactly what they were going to do. 

The lobby of the love hotel was surprisingly elegant, with soft lighting and dark-wood panelling along the clean lines and sharp angles of the room. A smiling woman stood behind a large wooden desk in the far corner. She said something in rapid Japanese and Emma struggled to pick out any of the words she knew. 

Killian replied, also in Japanese. 

_What the fuck,_ thought Emma, gaping at him, wondering if she were drunker than she’d thought. 

He shot her a slightly sheepish look as the woman began to tap on her computer. “I’ve been taking lessons,” he said. 

So had Emma, but she wasn’t anywhere near that good. 

Though her body was still thrumming with excitement she began to feel a bit awkward as Killian and the still-smiling woman arranged their room. There was only one reason people went to love hotels, the clue was quite literally in the name, and despite the fact that this was the woman’s job it felt weird to think that she knew what Emma and Killian were there to do. 

Killian caught the look on her face and squeezed her hand. “You can back out any time, love,” he said. “No hard feelings.” 

She shook her head, and returned his squeeze. “No. I want to do this.” 

He smiled and the look in his eyes made her belly quiver. 

The smiling woman handed Killian a key and a pamphlet and pointed them in the direction of the elevator with an elegant hand wave and a series of bows. 

“Come on, then, Swan,” he said, flipping through the pamphlet. “We’re on the twelfth floor.” 

“There are twelve floors to this place?”

“More, even, I think.”

They got in the elevator, which was as dimly lit as the lobby. The darkness made it easier to slide close to him again and press her cheek against his chest as he kissed her hair. 

She supposed that was the point. 

After the tasteful elegance of the hotel’s entrance and elevator, the sight of their room had them stopping dead in the doorway, gaping in shock. _This,_ thought Emma. _This is what I was expecting._ The commitment to the theme was impressive. 

The room was large, with gently curving walls and tall, blacked-out windows, but what really drew the eye were the hearts. Heart shaped pillows of varying sizes and hues of pink and red cluttered the heart-shaped bed with its heart shaped headboard, over which hung a heart-shaped mirror framed in sparkly red hearts. The walls were striped with lines of fuchsia hearts and in the corner sat a small table, square but lacquered in black with bright red hearts and accompanied by two matching chairs, with heart-shaped backs. 

Emma tried to swallow her hysterical giggles but then she caught Killian’s eye. He was biting the inside of his cheek and when she widened her eyes at him they both burst into laughter. 

“This is brilliant,” said Killian, after they had caught their breath again. “It’s everything I hoped it would be.” 

“Exactly what I was thinking,” she agreed, and they both knew they weren’t just talking about the room. 

Their laughter had dissipated the awkwardness leaving only the insistent pull of sexual tension, and when Emma hooked her fingers under the waistband of his trousers and pulled him closer she could feel the pounding of his heart and the heat of his gaze burning into her as she slid her hand into his hair. 

“I’m feeling more sober now,” she whispered. 

“Is that bad?”

“Exactly the opposite. I want to remember this.” 

“So do I.” 

She pulled his mouth down to hers and stood on her toes to meet it halfway as his arms wrapped tightly around her. Their lips met softly at first and then harder, and Emma’s head began to spin again as she opened her mouth and his tongue stroked hers, soft and wet and warm and tasting faintly of alcohol. He kissed her firmly and with obvious skill but let her take the lead, responding to her cues and adapting to her pace, and for the first time ever she felt like kissing was something being done _with_ her rather than _to_ her, and for Emma this was a revelation. 

Soon she was breathless and barely able to stay standing on her shaky legs. She leaned against Killian, wrapping her arms around his neck as he lifted her just off her feet and walked them over to the bed, lowering her gently onto the pile of heart pillows and following her down without breaking their kiss. He unbuttoned her shirt slowly, letting his fingertips trail along each newly revealed inch of skin until every last button was undone and she practically ripped the shirt away, desperate for more of his hands on her.   

They pulled apart just long enough for her to yank off her bra and toss it away and for him to remove his own shirt, heedless of its buttons, and when they came back together she moaned at the rough sensation of his chest hair against her nipples. It felt amazing, his skin against hers felt amazing, and the hard press of his cock between her legs made her heart race and her fingers tremble in anticipation. She bucked her hips against him and he groaned into her mouth. 

He tugged at the waistband of her trousers. “Get these off,” he growled, as with his other hand he began to undo his belt. Emma shimmied out of her pants and underwear, too eager to feel all of him against her to be anything like self-conscious. When they were both naked he paused, taking her in, then reached out a trembling hand to trace the contours of her breast and waist and hip with the tips of his fingers. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said, almost in a whisper. “I can’t believe—” 

“What?” she whispered back. 

“I can’t believe I’m here with you. This is like a dream.” 

She knew exactly how he felt. 

“You’re beautiful too,” she said, trailing her own fingertips over his chest and down his abs, stopping just shy of his cock. He caught his breath, the blue of his eyes almost lost to black, but managed a smirk. 

“Devilishly handsome, I think you’ll find, Swan.” 

She laughed. “That too.” 

He pulled her back into his arms, running his hand down her back to press her as close as he could, curving it around her ass to pull her hips into his. She gasped, rocking against the hard swell of cock, desperate to feel it inside her, when she was struck by a terrible thought. “Wait,” she panted, pushing against his shoulders. “Do you have a condom?”

Killian pulled back, panting himself. “No. But the love hotel provides.” He leaned across her and pressed a button on the side of the headboard. A small drawer popped open, from which he withdrew a strip of six condoms, smirking at her as he brandished them.

“Ambitious,” remarked Emma. 

“Aye, perhaps, but I do love a challenge.” 

He waggled his eyebrows at her and she laughed. “How did you know those were there?”

“It’s in the brochure.” 

“When did you—” she began, but he cut her off with his mouth on hers and his hand sliding up the inside of her thigh, making her gasp against his lips. 

“Hush, now, love, remember we have six condoms to use before two o’clock this afternoon, we need to stay focused.” 

Her chuckle became a strangled moan as his fingers stroked through her slick flesh, finding her clit with impressive speed and accuracy. He pressed it lightly with his thumb and then began to rub gentle circles around it. 

“Oh my _God_ ,” she gasped, half expecting him to reply with some quip about how just Killian would do, but he was too intent on watching her reactions to his touch. She could almost see him cataloguing what she liked, thinking vaguely that she should feel uncomfortable being the centre of such focused attention, but then he increased the pressure of his thumb and slipped a finger inside her and she forgot to think at all. 

She arched her back, pressing her core against his hand and her head back against the pillows as her hands clutched at them. She wanted to watch him as he watched her; the intensity of his focus and determination to please her turned her on as much as anything about him did, but her eyes refused to stay open, fluttering closed as the heady sensations built and intensified and then her orgasm burst over her and she actually screamed. 

Killian continued to stroke her until she opened her eyes then withdrew his hand, resting it on her hip as he propped his head on the other one, watching her with an expression that managed to be both soft and smug. 

“You,” she panted, “are looking awfully pleased with yourself.”

His smirk deepened. “Well, darling, I did just make you scream.”

She gave his shoulder a sharp shove, toppling him onto his back and quickly swinging her leg over to straddle him. “Let’s see who screams next,” she said. 

He cupped her breast, thumbnail flicking across her nipple and she tried to stifle her gasp, without success. He licked his lower lip, slowly. “You’re on, love,” he growled.  

Damn it, thought Emma, she was fully turned on again, ready to go. 

“Where’s the damn condoms?” she snarled, snatching them from his hand when he held them up. Ripping the first one from its packet she quickly rolled it down his length, following it with her body as he pulled her close to take her nipple in his mouth. 

“Fuck,” she moaned as twin bolts of pleasure shot through her from her breast and her core. “Fuck.” 

“That’s the idea,” murmured Killian against her skin. He gave her ass a light slap. “Get on with it, then. I thought you were going to make me scream.” 

Emma resisted the urge to smack him, instead lifting her hips and slamming them down, taking him deep, triumphant when he groaned and the hand on her ass gripped her hard. She braced her hands on either side of his head and concentrated on finding a rhythm, taking him as deep as she could and watching him as closely as he had her, trying to memorise what he liked best. 

There seemed to be nothing he didn’t like, and soon he was thrusting up to meet her, fingers digging bruises into her flesh as she leaned on one hand and dragged her fingernails down his chest. When she flicked his nipple as he had done hers, he made a noise she’d never heard before and flipped them over, lifting her knee up to to her chest and plunging back into her deeper than before. 

Emma no longer cared about the noises she herself was making; she was lost to everything but him, to the delicious friction of his cock inside her and his chest hair against her nipples, the softness of his lips on her neck. She’d had no idea sex could feel like this, like she was coming apart but also more whole than she’d ever been, her body incandescent with sensations that were almost more than she could bear. When she came it caught her by surprise, bursting from her core and flooding her with pleasure to the very tips of her fingers and toes. She gripped Killian’s forearm, nails digging into his skin as she clenched around him and he moaned her name as he came.

He collapsed and tried to roll away but she held on, wanting his weight on her for a few moments longer. He let his head fall against her neck and she could feel his breath ruffling the fine hairs on her nape as she sank her fingers into his own hair, damp with sweat, and as her senses slowly returned she tried not to worry about how _not awkward_ this whole thing felt. 

Even with Neal she’d always been awkward after sex, and she’d known him for years before sleeping with him. The whole business of being naked with someone once the urge to fuck had gone made her feel far too vulnerable, to say nothing of the messy cleanup and the general damp stickiness of it all. She generally escaped as quickly as she could and went to take a shower. 

But with Killian not only didn’t she want to run she actually wanted to _cuddle_. His hand was moving up and down her hip in a touch more soothing than sensual, in time with her fingers sifting through his silky hair and it was… nice. Comfortable and sweet and lovely and she had no idea why this didn’t scare her. 

Eventually he turned his head and nuzzled her cheek, kissing it lightly before pulling out of her, careful not to lose the condom. He went to dispose of it and she stretched luxuriantly, ogling his ass as he went. 

“I could really use a shower,” she remarked. 

“There’s a tub in here,” Killian called from the bathroom. “A big one.” 

He poked his head out of the doorway, his expression at once challenging and shyly hopeful. “We could both fit,” he said. 

What the hell, thought Emma. She’d already blown up all her old rules and boundaries with him, and she wasn’t about to run off until they’d had at least one more round, so why not take a bath together? She pictured him flushed and damp and looking at her in that way he had that made her feel cherished. 

“Is it heart shaped?” she joked. 

He laughed. “No. A missed opportunity there, really.” 

“Oh well. Let’s use it anyway.” 

His face lit up before disappearing back around the doorframe, and a moment later she heard the sound of water running. 

“There are some bubbles though,” he called out. “In a heart shaped bottle.” 

“Good enough,” laughed Emma. “Put ‘em in!”

She rolled off the bed and sauntered into the bathroom. Maybe it was the residual effect of the blue drink, maybe the fact that she was still buzzing from the best sex of her life, or maybe it was just the way Killian looked at her, but Emma was feeling bold and sexy, and when she appeared in the bathroom doorway and his eyes darkened as they travelled slowly down her naked form that feeling only intensified. 

“You’re stunning,” he said. 

She grinned. “So are you. Are we gonna do this again?”

“I know by ‘this’ you mean ‘trade compliments,’ but I’m going to ignore that and say hell yes we are but let’s have a bath first.” 

“Good call,” she said, and stepped into the warm water. The bubbles smelled like roses and she sighed in bliss, and when Killian got in behind her and pulled her against him she snuggled into him with a sigh of a different sort, feeling happier than she could remember being since that dark, tragic night when she was twelve years old. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone unfamiliar with love hotels, they are basically just hotels that are designed to be places for people to go to have sex. They are not specifically for prostitution, though they can be used that way, but more for couples who just need some privacy in a very densely populated country with thin walls. In many traditional Japanese homes the sleeping space and the living space is the same space, and people just roll up their futons and put them in closets during the day, plus extended families often live together, so you can imagine it's hard even for married couples to find any space to be alone. They're not all heart-themed, but many have other themes like anime or S&M, and increasingly they are getting rid of the themes entirely. 
> 
> You can read more here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Love_hotel

**Author's Note:**

> I was in Japan in 2006-7, so that is when this fic is set. I haven’t been back since and I’m sure a lot has changed. I hope anyone who has visited in the past 13 years will forgive me any small inconsistencies in my memory or for places I describe that no longer exist. In short, please don't @me, I apologise in advance. 
> 
> Also, all the OUAT characters here are standing in for people I actually knew in Japan, meaning in some cases I’ve had to tweak them a bit. It’s quite important for Anna’s character to be from Canada, for example. Again, please forgive me. 
> 
> Thanks for reading 💕💕


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